Bubble Baths

            My friend had invited me to a wedding with him.  (Rumor has it he has a small crush on me, but he knows about Guy #1, so I don’t think he was expecting anything, and if he was… Sorry Charlie).  Anywho, we go to this wedding and start drinking immediately.  You know, it was going to be one of those kinds of weddings where everyone is Irish and loud, and in kilts, and hammered.  Can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.  Always a good motto.

            One of the kilt wearing Irishmen is hanging out with us.  I can’t help but notice he is a beautiful man.  He had black hair, piercing blue eyes and he had a nice build.  (Fireman, always a positive).  I also can’t help but notice how he is looking at me.  Immediately, what one would think when someone is staring at them that hard is this; ‘do I have something on my face?’ ‘Boogers?’ ‘What the fuck man?’

I went with the subtle, “hello, whats your name?” with a hint of annoyance in my voice as if I'm challenging him now.

            He smiles, I don’t know if he found me funny, or outrageous, but whatever, he smiled and introduced himself.  Firm hand shake, he means business, and I like it.

            Needless to say, the night progresses and the beer is flowing, and were all dancing like idiots.  It was a fun enough wedding, I guess.  I didn’t know anyone but the friend that brought me, and now apparently, I knew this kilt wearing Irishman.  It’s easy to be a moron in a crowd of people you don’t know and most likely will never see again, so I acted like an ass.  Drank way too much, ate all the food in front of me like I was going to the chair, danced, kicked off my shoes and boogied.  Stared at the Irishman.

            As the wedding came to a close, the hotel bar was patiently waiting for us to adjourn there, so again, we were off.  More and more beers to be had.  I went upstairs and changed into my comfortable clothes.  I am not one to be out and about in a dress and heals, you joking me?  Fuck that, if I'm going to be drinking all night long, I would prefer to do it in sweats and a wife beater.  That’s just me, and for those of you that may read this, judgment is a sin and God hates sinners.

            Being that at this point I had been drinking for the better part of 12 hours or so, I had been chain-smoking as well.  Thanks to the big white light in the sky I bought another pack for the evening.  Its weird how quickly they disappear when there is alcohol involved.  I digress.

            I step outside to have a quick smoke and who comes with me but the Irishman.  Interesting.  He doesn’t smoke.  He seems more like a pretty boy in that doesn’t do anything bad, smoking is bad.  But he is a drinker, always a positive for me.  Being that I enjoy drinks and such.

            Quickly, what is it with me and idle conversation that always turns into something strange?  I don’t understand!  Here we are talking about who knows what, and he comes out with, “ugh, I am so sore and tired.  I think I am going to take a bath tonight and soak.”

            Fucking kidding me?

            “Oh, that sounds like fun.”

            “Yea?  You wanna join?”

            Again, fucking kidding me?  Of course I’m going to join!  I happen to love baths and men with dark hair and blue eyes.  And firemen.  Bla, whatever!

            “Right, I’m going back inside now.”

            Ladies!  Play it off!  Don’t instantly throw yourself into a situation that involves nudity and bathing with strangers unless it is thought of for at least 20 minutes.  Possibly more than 20 minutes.  (I mean, I guess no one would normally mentally agree to a bath with a stranger unless they were drunk, and I was indeed intoxicated at that point).  Only me, swear to God.

            The night continues.  The Irish clan of people had a party set up for after the after party.  The drinking continues again.  It is about 4am when the Irishman approaches me and says he is out of there, it was nice to meet me.  He takes me hand, kisses the cheek, you know, classy shit, and slips something into my hand. 

            When someone slips something into your hand stealthily, don’t be a fucking idiot and look at it right away.  Put it in your pocket and wait 12 seconds.  I didn’t take my own advice, because I was like ‘oh wow, whats this? Duhh.’

            How the hell am I going to slip away from my ‘date’ to go take a bath with this guy?  Why am I going to bathe myself with a stranger?  I don’t know.  I mean, I guess I felt dirty; I could use a nice back rub.  Whatever.  I head to my room first to grab something, I don’t remember why I did this, or what it was that I went to get.  Maybe I went to the bathroom or something?  Who knows.  I don’t.  Then I head back to room 128.  Which is of course right near the after after party.  Perfect!  Why not!?

            Fuck it.

            I stick the card into the slot, and the green light flashed. 

            “You weren’t kidding about the bath were you?”

            “I didn’t think you were really coming!”

            “Dude, you gave me your key, of course I was going to come.”

            Is that slutty?  I mean it kind of is when I think back on it.  Who the hell just takes a random mans room key, uses it, and berates him for being honest in saying he is indeed taking a bath.  That’s right, fucking me.  Only me.  Typical me!  Unreal.  (I was mentally insulting myself at this point.  ‘You’re an idiot!  Abort mission!  You don’t know this fucking guy!  Awell, just sex.  Dive in”

            There he is in his boxers, making the water bubbly.  And there I am leaning on the doorframe of the bathroom contemplating this thing again for serious.  I go with my gut instinct.  I am going to take a bath.  I am a dirty girl.

            “You joining me?”

            Drop trow.  Yank off shirt.  All my clothes are scattered on the floor and I plop myself down into the warm water.  He slides in right behind me and we're just sitting there in the tub.  He apparently has never had a bath with two people in it, because as soon as he slides in the fucking water overflows, and being that water is stupid, it heads right for my clothes.  Wonderful!  Why not!?

He starts rubbing my back, and its nice I guess.  From what I can recall anyways.  The water started making me drowsy, so I told him I was getting out.  I will let this detail slip; he is a GREAT kisser.  I mean, wow.  So I wrap myself in a towel and try to ring out my clothes in the sink.  Didn’t go that well.  Now I'm screwed.  I didn’t have another change of clothes with me, and I was not planning on staying at the hotel that night anyways, so clearly, I could not go back to my friends room soaking wet and wearing possibly nothing. 

He pulls me onto the bed and we jump under the blankets.  I fell asleep for like a half an hour and I am awoken to him pushing my arm, ‘are you awake?’  Wouldn’t it make sense that if I were in fact awake, I would have answered the first time you poked me?  Just saying.

I think we all know what happened there.

Over and done.  He asks me, “Umm do you dye your hair?”

“Strange question, yes I do, why?”

He spreads his arm wide around the bed as to say, “take a look.”  I look and it looks like there was a massacre on the sheets.  Red hair dye is everywhere.  The pillows, the sheets, the comforter, towels, everywhere.  No bueno.  I just started laughing.  The look on his face was priceless.  He said fuck it, he didn’t care. 

I head to the bathroom to do the whole post sex thing.  Wash up (alone this time! Muahaha) and my clothes are still soaked.  My sweat pants have blotchy wet spots on them, my beater is soaked, my bra is wet, underwear drenched.  I was in a serious predicament. 

I pull my pants on, ugh; I strap on my bra, double ugh, and throw my pea coat on over my bra.  I wave at the Irishman, don’t leave my number, and I walk out the door. 

You know those shows where there is typically a train wreck of a woman walking through the streets of Manhattan or something, and she clearly is disheveled from having sex with someone?  Picture this, a starry bra, soaking wet sweat pants, and a barely closed pea coat.  Wet hair, which is probably running red down my back at that point, and slippers, (not complements of the hotel.  I should have taken their mints though.  Fuck).

I go up to my friend’s room, grab all my shit and peace out of there so fast. 

Once again, I have an in depth conversation with myself about how I cant be doing things like this anymore.  Not having the car radio available to me, I have come to know a lot about myself since myself and my other self talk now.  That’s right, its like I am a new found schizoid.  (Which reminds me, get some fucking fuses for my car before I get locked up and tied to a bed inside a padded room).

I get home, throw my phone on the charger and text my friend some bullshit story about how I got sick.  Then I went to sleep.

I probably should have said something a little more believable, like ‘explosive diarrhea’ or something, but ailments seemed right to me at the time. 

The next day I went back for more with guy #1. 

I feel the need to take a bath.

The Run In

            Dread.

            That is one word I will use to describe how I was feeling one night when I ran into the ex.  It was the first time I really saw him out and about after the break up.  I think the hardest thing about seeing him was knowing how bad I was hurt, and seeing him laughing with his friends and singing along to the songs he played on the jukebox, and knowing he seemed happy.

            It was my friends birthday weekend.  We all went out for dinner at this fancy little place.  So as were all sitting there, about ten of us, we were laughing and having a good time and sipping fancy drinks, I hear my phone going off in my pocket.  It was strange hearing a ring tone I hadn’t heard in two months and knowing that when I looked down at my phone his picture would be there looking back up at me.

            “Why is this happening right now?” I asked the crowd as I showed them the picture and the phone being called.

            “Fuck him.” 

“Don’t answer it!” 

“What the fuck is he calling for?” 

“Really?!”

I don’t know what it is about this guy.  Every time he makes contact with me I feel defeated all over again.  I swear, I can’t move after hearing from him.  I fall right back into a depression.  To the point where I don’t want to get out of bed and my mood is rotten.  I find a sprinkle of peace in my life and then it is shot down once I hear his voice or see he has written me another email.  It’s unbearable. 

I don’t answer the phone, but I do feel a little out of it.  I suddenly want to go home and crawl into my bed under the covers and cry.  But, it was my best friends birthday night out and I am an awesome friend, so I carry on.  It’s all you can do when you feel like a walking pile of dog shit and your heart is cracking into pieces again.

Carry on.

The next night my friend and I were out at the Watering Hole again.  (I know, I know, don’t judge), and as were going to leave to relocate, I get a text from him saying he is going to be there that night and he has some things for me from the old apartment.  I text him saying I just left, but maybe I will come back later to grab my things.

Again, I am in a terrible mood.  I am so low at this point that I didn’t even want to go out for those drinks at the other bar, but I did.  Sando asked me if I wanted to go back to the Watering Hole and I thought about it for a bit.  I did want to go back.  I figured I was going to run into him sooner or later.  I would rather just get it over with.  So, we headed back to the other bar.

I was paralyzed with nerves and fear and dread once we got there.  I chain smoked on the car ride over to calm myself, but that just made me even more nervous.  Since he had last seen me I dropped about 15 pounds and I cut my hair short and dyed it red.  I was hoping he wouldn’t even notice me or recognize me.

Of course he notices me.  I went to the corner of the bar away from where he was.  I think in the back of my mind somewhere I was hoping he wouldn’t have still been there.  Maybe he just dropped off my things and went home.  But that was not the case at all.  Why would that be the case?  Shit never works out in my favor.  Typical.

He came over to me, gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and asked me how I was doing.  I wouldn’t and couldn’t look at him in the eye.  I almost threw up.  I could feel it rising in my throat, but I managed to word vomit that I was fine.  He invited me and my friend to come and sit with them at their table, but I just shook my head and said no, I couldn’t do that.

I don’t think I can put into words how hard it was for me to sit there, in the same room with him without crying and or punching him in the face repeatedly.  So I sipped my lite beer and tried to have conversation with my friend as if I wasn’t hurting.  I tried laughing and it was foreign.  I tried everything, but nothing worked.

She got up to go to the bathroom and he came over and sat next to me.  He was asking me all about things we would talk about when we were a couple; things I had planned months ago and he knew about.  It was like Chinese water torture.  Sando came back from the bathroom and he sat with us and chatted for a few minutes and that’s when it happened.

I broke. 

I went into the bathroom and stood there with my head on the wall trying to convince myself to stop crying.  He doesn’t love you anymore.  He is probably with someone else by now.  He is sitting in the next room having conversation with you.  Your not his anymore.  You need to get over this.  How can you get over this?  How can you sit here knowing he is happy and your in a bathroom bawling your eyes out?

I cleaned myself up and went back.  I grabbed my jacket from where he was sitting and I went outside.  He asked my friend how I was, and she told him I was great and that she wanted it to stay that way.  She told him she broke up with her boyfriend on Valentines day.

“Wow, that’s harsh.”

“Yea, but not as harsh as breaking up with someone on the day of their friends funeral.”

“I deserve that.”

“You deserve a hell of a lot more than that, but she asked me to be nice.”

This is why I love my friends. 

I went back inside and finished my drink, he wasn’t sitting there when I went back inside so we chugged them down and I left.  I went home and sat on my bed and stared into nothing for hours.  I felt numb and broken.

I sent him a text message that asked him to not speak to me, even if it was something funny or friendly.  I didn’t need or want his friendship.  He said he wouldn’t contact me anymore.  I had a rush of emotions.  I loved him.  I still love him.  I don’t know how to get over it.  Clearly my method of screwing people without emotions wasn’t working for me anymore.  It was like I was trying to fill the emptiness of losing him with random sex. 

Guy #1 called me the next day to see what was up.  I didn’t even answer him.  It became clear to me that I was not ready for anything more than sex with anyone.  I had fallen back into my stale routine of being alone, and crying, and sleeping.

Three days later I pulled myself up off the bed and showered. 

I called guy #1 and had sex with him.  It was a nice buffer to keep on the back burner.  And he makes me forget about my shitty problems. 

Maybe one day I will get over it, but right now I am just happy getting under people.

Inevitable Feelings

            Guy #1 went away for the long weekend with the guys after I left one morning.  But the funny thing was, he would text me every night and ask how my day was and what I was doing, and ‘I miss you,’ ‘you have fun tonight?’ ‘ I’m eating linguini with clam sauce.’

            I decided to call him out on his texts, as they were all the time and I was wondering what it was exactly that he wanted from me.  I mean, for me casual sex is the thing to do at the moment, however, I am not opposed to something more with him.  But that is neither here nor there at this juncture.

            “Here is a question for you.  If your away on a man trip, why do you text me? Aww, do you miss me? HAHA.”

            “Of course I do.  These dudes have tits but they don’t compare to yours!”

            “Cute.”

            “HAHA”

            “You’re too cute!  I didn’t know you missed me so much!”

            “Oh, so you don’t miss me?”

            “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

            “HAHA”

            “Whats funny?”

            “You.”

            “Why me?  It’s your fault.  You seduced me.”

            “Hahahahaha wtf?  I was pleasantly stunned you kissed me that night.”

            “Right.”

            “I didn’t think I had a chance so I didn’t bother Haha.”

            Isn’t that the biggest load of crap ever read?  Like it was me that was asking to come over for naked naps and talking all this ‘I miss you’ stuff.  Nope, it wasn’t, but like an idiot, I went along with it and liked it and wanted more of it.  He is a drug to me.  I am a junkie for him.  And that was a problem. 

            A problem because I knew I couldn’t get involved with him.  He always told me he was not the marrying kind or the having kids kind.  Why would I want to be with someone that doesn’t want anything that I want?  I did that, for five years, and see how well that went!?  I thought it would be best for me to kind of squash it before it went too far.  I know myself, I know what I want.  I want someone who is going to love me, or like me a lot, and want a family with me, and get married.  I knew he wasn’t that person.  But, I went back.  Again and again.

            I decided that after about a week of doing this dance that we should probably cool things down and whatnot due to the face that my mother told me that, “those boys are nothing but pigs and they will fuck anyone.  They come in here and tell all their disgusting stories about the girls they bang.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love those boys, but they’re not for you.”  And I think she was onto us.  She couldn’t be onto us.

            I went to the house and we talked about things and we decided it would be best for both of us to slow it down.  Now, at this point I am absolutely crushing on him, and I know I can’t have a crush on him for the reasons I listed prior.  We parted ways, as he was going to work and I was going out with my friends.  I’m not going to lie; I was a little upset about it because after a breakup like I had, I had felt rejected again. So I decided to say fuck it and go out with other people. 

            Later that week I called up a guy I had met out at the bar and asked him if he was still up for those drinks he had asked me about before.  We set up a date and I was ready to roll. 

            This guy was younger than me.  He had a good job and a house and all the toys he wanted and that was good and wonderful.  But his actions were absurd.  He drove to fast, talked too much shit, and had nothing productive to say that interested me in the slightest.  Not to mention we went to Buffalo Wild Wings for dinner.  (No offense to the Buffalo Wild Wings people, but god damnit, when I go out on a date I don’t want to eat chicken wings and drink their beer). 

            But did I go home with him anyways?  Yes, yes I did.  And why did I do that?  Why wouldn’t I do that?  I mean, I might as well right?

            Welp, when I got there… He wasn’t there.  As in, he is not rising to the occasion.  That was interesting.  So, whatever.  I asked him to take me home and he threw a hissy fit about it.  I mean really!?  A hissy fit?  You’re 25 years old and throwing a fit because I am now asking you to take me home.  I am so not into it and I just want to go home and shower and go to bed.  I’m sorry but Swamp People is not exactly a turn on for me, and apparently, it was not a turn on for him either.  (Laughing inner monologue now… devilishly).

            Now, wouldn’t you know, that after about 3 days of not speaking to the first one, I get home and have a message from him asking me what I am up to.  I figured I might as well tell him the truth. 

            “Oh, nothing.  Just getting in from a date.”

            “A DATE?!”

            “Yea, a date.  I have had better dates, but whatever. What are you doing?”

            Now, I don’t get anything back from him immediately.  I lay down to try to get some sleep and I get a phone call from him.  I look at my phone and I am kind of in shock by the fact that he has now called me after hearing about my “non-date”.  What came through the phone was kind of startling. 

            “What do you mean you went on a date?  Is this why we had the slow it down conversation the other day?  So you could go out on dates?”

            Whoa. 

            “No, that’s not why we decided to slow it down.  You know the reasons why.  Where are you?”

            “I’m at the bar right now.  I’m talking to my friend.  I can’t believe you went out on a date.  What are you doing tomorrow?  I have to go though.  Ill call you tomorrow.”

            Now, I am floored.  I don’t know what is going on, but I think I am a little flattered by the fact that I now know he is unnerved by my date.  (Insert evil laugh here).  Whats interesting to me is being on par with slowing things down, then me going on a date and he gets bent about it.  Muahaha, I think I have got him right where I want him now.  I now know he is digging me more than he lets on.  I mean really, who gets upset when their “strictly fuck buddy” goes out on a date?  Apparently mine does. 

            The texts didn’t stop for the rest of the night.  He proceeded to tell me how wonderful I am, and that he missed me (smiley face with blowing a kiss), and p.s. I’m the best.

            Well duh!  I am the best, and you knew this, and you should just accept it.

            Once again, the next morning, I get texts from him asking me what I was doing and if I was interested in coming over to hang out for a little while.  I told him I was having a lunch date with one of my friends.  And immediately, he was like ‘another date?’  Little did he know my lunch date was with my best friend, who is in fact a woman!

            I told him I would call him when I was done eating and he seemed to be into that.

            I met up with my best friend at a little dive hole in town that serves awesome burritos.  And I sat down to tell her all about what has been going on in my life for the last few weeks.  She laughed at me and said it was awesome.  And she decided that I should go for the older one because the younger one is a toolbox.  Not to mention the older one has an awesome job with bennies and he doesn’t have a problem getting it up when its time to go. 

            Just as a side note, that’s pathetic.  For a twenty something to not be able to get it up after a few beers is a little off putting.  Not to mention, I’m sorry, but I don’t need you trying to get it up by yanking on it on my leg.  That’s an absolute turn off.  Just thinking about that, I want to vomit in my mouth.  I think I might just do that. 

            Moving on.

            So now, here I am driving over to his house after my lunch date, and again, my car radio is still dead because I am putting off the whole going out to buy the parts to fix it.  So I talk to myself in the car while driving through town, “your disgusting.  Booty call whore.  This cant go well.  Fuck it.  (head in hands) Pathetic.”

            I pull into the driveway and he comes out to greet me which always go this way; big hug, kiss on the cheek, little ass grab.  No big deal.

            We go outside and sit on his porch, smoke a few cigarettes and I tell him how I was sent to the principals office the day before (yes, as a 27 year old I was sent to the office after a child I work with complained to her parents about me.

            “Do you need me to make it better?”

            Provocative. 

            “How are you going to do that?”

            “Come over here and Ill show you…”

            Again, provocative.  And I dig it.  Now all I can do is stare at his lips again.  Which are full and beautiful.  And very kissable.  I cant help but wonder what on earth he is going to do to make it all better for me.  But I am down for the knowledge. (Insert smiley face here).

            I stand up and walk over to stand between his legs and ask him, “so?”

            He pulls me down into his lap and were off.

“I cant wait anymore.”

  That little make out session lasts for about 34 seconds before he stands up, throws me over his shoulder and carries me into the bedroom.  I feel like a ragdoll.  But it was a serious turn on.

            There we go again.  There was no room for foreplay.  Well maybe a little bit, and I will say that it was amazing.  I am almost positive I met Jesus Christ.  He was a vision. 

            When we were done, we went back outside.  He cracks open a beer, and again the conversation ensues. 

            “Going on a hot date tonight?”

            I laughed at him and said no.  But I did have a potential date later in the week.  He shook his head and laughed at me.  (At this point I figure I can just make up these ‘dates’ and he will react the same way; jealous.  Which turns into amazing afternoon sex sessions.  I’m down for that.

The Married Guy

         It was a girl’s night out kind of weekend for us.  I mean we went dancing, drank fancy martinis, and basically made fools of ourselves.  We went to this newer club in Connecticut where it was darkly lit, there were men in business suits, and there we sat looking like high-class trash sipping chocolate martinis. 

            As the night went on we talked about typical girls night things; sex, drinks, more sex.  You know, the normal stuff girls talk about.  Let's be honest here, what else do girls talk about?  Were like men with vaginas, but there’s no comparing vagina shapes or sizes like guys do.  Evolution is a hell of a thing isn’t it? 

            While outside for a smoke break, a little ‘fresh air’, our friend Zola met one of the bouncers that worked at the club.  He was cute, light hair and eyes, nice build from what I can remember.  We would chat with him whenever we went outside for a break and he would laugh at our stupidity.  I mean, really?  He’s a bouncer; he must see shit shows all the time in his line of work.  If there weren’t people like us, he wouldn’t have a job, so I think he should be thanking us.  Whatever. 

            Our girlfriend, Cheese, had to call her boyfriend to come pick her up due to her martini intake.  So it was just Sando, Zola, and me at the club.  Honestly, I should have gone home with Cheese because it had gotten to the point in the night where I was swaying and slurring. I drink a little bit more than I should, but I never get to the point where I don’t know what I am doing with my own self.  Fail for the night.

            As I’m swaying, in a rhythm I like to call dancing, I dip my entire ponytail into my martini.  Now, being that I am a weathered and seasoned drinker, I didn’t want to waste any of my $9 drink so what did I do? I rang my ponytail out back into my martini glass.  What!??!  It’s my hair! Judgey Pants!

            That was the low point of my night.  Actually, that could have been a low point for the last six or so months.  Who does that?  I do.

            Back to Zola and the big bouncing man (I am done embarrassing myself for the moment), I walk outside with Sando to find Zola, and there she is with her tongue down the bouncers throat.  I started giggling like a little schoolgirl.  Sando was laughing at her too.  They exchanged numbers and I didn’t think much would come from it.  Like I said before, he is a bouncer, he probably gets a lot of numbers. 

            How wrong we were!

            He started a little texting relationship with her for about a week or two.  We decided it was time.  We would Facebook stalk him to learn a little something about the guy.  He was wanting Zola to come meet him in the Bronx and such, us being good friends said we should probably stalk him before we let her hang out solo with the guy.  Good plan on our part, were good friends.

            So here we are, stalking, and we learn this; he’s married with a child! 

            I mean, what kind of ass clown is going to make out with someone in public and sext them and such when he has a wife and a child at home waiting for him into the wee hours of the morning!?  Doucher.  Once again, proving my point when I say all men are not to be trusted.  They set you up for inevitable disaster.  They tug on girls’ heartstrings and then play the puppet master, all the while concocting a plan of emotional distress and hurt.  Fuckers.  Sorry for the rant, but come on girls!  Open your fucking eyes. 

            Zola was a little put off by the whole wife and kid thing.  She didn’t want to be a home wrecker.  I don’t blame her; I wouldn’t want to be the other woman in that situation.  For another week or so we stalked to see if there were any changes in the status of his Facebook relationship.  Maybe a new ‘daddy and baby’ picture posted?  Nothing.  We got nothing. 

            Then he sent her a text asking to hang out.  She brought me and Sando as back up (and protection) and in he strolls looking right, and smelling wonderful.  I don’t think anyone can break the ice in the situation involving your significant other and potential child.  So instead of saying my favorite line, “so, how much does a penguin weigh?  Enough to break the ice!  Let’s get down to brass tacks, are you married with children?” we had to be a little more subtle about it.  I mean, honestly, that’s a touchy conversation to be had.  We didn’t want to upset him if they were separated, but we didn’t want to point fingers and accuse him of being a typical Doucher of a man either.

            Somehow the topic of marriage came up, I don’t know how but Sando blatantly asked him, “so, have you ever been married?”  He shifted uncomfortably and said no, he hadn’t been married or anything like that.  (Lies).  We dropped the subject, why, I don’t know, but I think it was because it was very uncomfortable after that.  That was our chance!  It slipped through our fingers!  Shit!

            While all this is going on, I am texting Guy #1, who has been strangely in tune with me and my goings on.  I thought it was strictly a sex thing with him, but oddly enough I had a feeling he may like me a little more than just a fuck buddy.  I mean, I am not ready at all for a relationship after my last disastrous one, which ended in misery and deplorable hurt.  He was too cute though.  I am a crack head to him.  (Pathetic, loser, ass hat.  This is me verbally bashing myself again.  I am good at it now.  Down to a science really).

            Another few days goes by, and Zola texts the bouncer saying she found him on Facebook and was there something that he wasn’t telling her about his status?  His response was, “that’s my brothers wife and kid.  I live with them remember?”

            I don’t know if she really accepted his answer, but me personally, I didn’t take that bait.  I’m sorry but lets be for serious here for a second.  You mean to tell me that you live with your brother, a cousin, a child, and a wife.  All of you in one house?  Right.  Are you twins with your brother?  Do you share the same name as well?  Something smells like a load of bullshit.  But I don’t know.  It’s not my problem really.  I’m out. 

            As far as I know, they’re still talking, which is fine if he’s not married with a child.  I’m still talking with Guy #1 (and having sex with him regularly).  Sando is on a roller coaster ride at the moment.  But her story can be told in another entry.  

The Naked Nap

Never in my life have I thought of myself as a prude, however, I was not slutty by any means.  Fresh out of a five-year relationship I figured the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.  I took my own advice and ran with it like Forrest Gump.  From the edge of Greenbow, Alabama to the Pacific Ocean.  I mean, I went big. 

I met this guy last summer at a function.  We became good friends where he and I would talk about everything.  We shared secrets and drank, and laughed.  It was an easy friendship.  My then boyfriend liked him, they were friendly, and so everything was copasetic with us hanging out.  It got to the point where people around us thought we were going to end up together (as I later learned from one of his friends).  I, at the time, was infatuated with my boyfriend.  There was no way I was leaving him for someone else; even if that other person was awesome. 

Long story short; I got dumped at my friend’s funeral…  In a note… after five years of being together and sharing a home, and going through tough situations, and love, and planning a future.  But I digress.  Back to the story at hand.  (Although, I appreciate the outraged gasps of distain and shocked horror).

Here I am a month after the big break up, and I get a naughty text from my “friend” in which he asked me if I wanted to come over for a naked nap.  I think my face flushed, and my immediate thought was “he’s a jokester!  I should probably shave my legs.”

“Hey you, whatcha doing?”

Me, “nothing whats up?”

“About to take a naked nap.  Wanna join?”

By this point my inner monologue was screaming, “whhhaatt?!?! Of course I do”

“Haha, your silly.  Are you kidding me?”

“No, I'm not kidding you.  Ill be at the bar later tonight.”

In a panic, as I don’t know what to do in a situation that involves nudity and or napping, I call my friend, Cheese, and tell her the whole conversation.  She is engaged and loved to hear about my uncomfortable situation.  So we decided to meet up and have some liquid courage at the local Mexican Restaurant.  As a side note, I am allergic to tequila, but I drink it anyways.  There is no time in life to not drink margaritas.  Keep that in mind when you need some liquid courage before a “naked nap.”

As I sit on the high bar stool, babbling into my drink, receiving naughty texts from him, and turning beet red due to my allergy, my mind is racing.  I don’t know what to do!  I have been out of the game for five years at this point.  I don know whats cool to say, whats not cool to say.  Should I even do this?  What if I'm bad?  What if I missed a spot shaving?  There were so many things going through my mind that I just drank.  A lot.  Probably too much.

I'm just going to go out on a limb and say this, ladies, drinking before potentially sleeping with someone is totally fine.  Just don’t be like me and drink 3 large margaritas when your allergic to the shit, and then meet up with him and proceed to drink beers. 

So now, here we are in the local watering hole, I’m red, I'm drunk, and I’m trying not to stare at his mouth.  He’s sitting there at the end of the bar he smiles at me. And I think I smiled back.  Then I feel my face getting hotter and hotter.  At this point I don know if it’s the tequila or the fact that he is sitting there smiling at me and I can dig it.  So, I did what anyone else would do, I ordered a drink for myself and sat at one of the high topped tables with my friends. 

They all knew what was going on, as they were helping me write back to his naughty messages.  Apparently, he kept looking at me, as my back was to him, I did not see this.  But they did.  And to make things very obvious, they would all lean their heads towards me, their eyes darting behind me and back towards me, they would say, “he’s looking over this way again.”

If nothing else, my friends are good at being secretive or inconspicuous.  Clearly. (Insert sarcasm here).

One by one my friends leave the bar, and there I sit.  Alone, just him, the bartender and me.  I like to think of it as being called a “showdown.”  You know, the last girl in the bar is the one someone is going home with.  Only this time, its not going to be the bartender, and I am that girl sitting there.  We step outside to smoke a cigarette and it’s a little awkward; like a big fat elephant sitting on the stoop with us.

Idle conversation turned into “naked nap” plans. 

Me- “So?”

Him- “So what?” (With a devilish smile)

Me- “Are you kidding me with those texts?”

Him- “You wanna find out?  Come by the house.”

Of course I went to his house!  I shaved for Christ’s sake.  I don’t waste a good shave on someone who’s not going to “nap” with me.  We went back to his house and for the first time we were sitting on the couch and there was nothing to talk about.  Typically when we found ourselves sitting there together, there was always something to be said, always a conversation to be had.  But, now, there we were staring at the television, not saying one word. 

I would guess you could say I was the aggressor.  Plainly, don’t be sexting me naughty things all day long and then sit on the couch without looking at me or saying anything to me. 

Before I knew what was going on, I sensed him looking at me, so I looked back.  I smiled at him and that was all she wrote.  You know that point where you know you’re about to be kissed?  When you stare at their lips, and not into their eyes, and you know it’s going to happen at any moment. 

Then he starts talking.  Seriously?!  Of all the times to be silent, this is one of those times.  Not one word for the past half an hour and now he wants to have a conversation.  I’m sorry, shut up.  I’m trying to look seductively at your face, please, don’t say anything at this moment!

But, as he’s talking he’s getting closer.  Now, he was talking on my lips.  I was getting excited and nothing was happening.  This is where me being the aggressor comes into play.  Thoughts ran through my mind, ‘should I just jump on him?’ ‘Do I let him continue this teasing thing?’ ‘Do I like the teasing thing?’ ‘I kind of like the teasing thing’ ‘Will I look skanky if I just jump on him?’ ‘Do I care at this point?’ ‘God damn tequila’ ‘Fuck it, I’m jumping on him.’

And I did.  And he is a good kisser.  And he has wandering hands, which is always a fun time for me.  So there we are, sitting on his couch, and he’s amazing.  And this is the first time I am kissing someone that’s not my ex.  First kiss in five years from someone other than “him.”

The whole couch foreplay thing lasted about 4 minutes. 

Next thing I know, I’m getting dragged into the bedroom.  Once there, he kisses me again, and then one thing turns into another and I am on the bed, on my back and he is coming down on top of me. 

I don’t think I need to go into the details of everything that occurs once the lights were out and we were in bed.  But I will say this much, twice that night and once in the morning.  And he cuddles!  (I like spooning.)

The next morning we wake up, have sex, get dressed and he makes me coffee.  (Really?!) Yes, really.  I happen to love coffee, and he knows this.  Then he offers to make me breakfast.  I graciously decline, as I don’t know what he could possibly have in his fridge, and if anything, how long it’s been there.  (Oh, the joys of screwing a bachelor who lives in his own home and only food shops when his beers and orange juice supply runs low).

I get home later that morning, after he was packing to go on a trip with some of his boys, and as my car radio died due to a blown fuse, I cursed myself for the entire 3 minute drive home.  I couldn’t believe I had stayed the night with some other man, had sex with him three times, and stayed for coffee in the morning.  I guess it was a good idea to shave after all.

A Whory Story

            You know that feeling of eternal love?  Where it’s just perfect, and the years together have melted into one, and then comes the plans of everlasting happiness, which includes marriage, babies and a home? 

            I had that once.

            It seems like it was a flash in the proverbial pan now, but I thought I really had it.  Everything was there at my fingertips.  Everything I wanted was there for me; he was there for me. 

            I was with this guy for 5 years.  5 years of love and happiness and plans.  5 years of hard time and good times, I thought I was done looking for Mr. Right, being that I had found him and I loved him and he loved me. 

            How wrong I was.

            Lets go back to February 2012.  I was working one night at the hospital when I got a phone call from my mother.  I don’t answer it because I am in fact at work.  Then I get a text “911” from her.  First thing I can think of is something happened to my dad or one of my sisters.  I told the charge nurse that I was going to go on break then.  As I am walking down the back stairs to the parking lot I called her back.

            “Are you there?” she asks me?

            “Yea, mom, whats up?”

            I knew something was wrong before she even told me what had happened.

            “He shot himself.”

            I don’t think I heard her right.  No way.

            “What?”

            “He committed suicide.  Sorry to tell you this at work I didn’t want you to find out from Facebook or something.”

            “I have to go”

            For a few moments I am stunned.  An unusual warmth crept up my body starting from my toes and spreading north.  It was freezing outside.  And all I could do was stand there.  I can’t remember the exact details of what happened after I went inside and told my friend and nurse manager what happened.  They let me leave work and I headed towards home where everyone was.

            He was a brother to me.  Literally, he came to my house for Christmas and holidays.  We talked about everything whether it was good or bad or ugly.  No one saw it coming.  He was the happiest guy in the world. 

            So, typically, when a person is upset they would call their significant other.  So I did.  I called my boyfriend at the time.  He had been acting strange towards me for a few days, but I figured he was just busy with work and such.  As usual he’s not answering me.  I start crying then.  I needed him.  I needed him to talk to me.  I needed to hear his voice.  I called about 6 times in a row before finally reaching him.

            “Babe?”

            “Whats up?”

            “He is dead.  He shot himself…” I can’t speak.

            There was silence on the other end of the line.  He knew him and me were close, so I’m thinking he doesn’t know what to say to me, or how to say anything.  What can one possibly say to their girlfriend after their friend dies so horribly?

            “I have to go.  Sorry”

            That’s the answer I got. 

            “OK.  I love you.”

            “OK.  Ill call you later”

            Notice how there was no ‘I love you too’ in there.  I didn’t until I remembered the conversation.  What an ass hole.  I get nothing.  Not a damn thing.

            I get to the place where everyone has met up.  And who is the first person to see me and pull me into his arms for a hug?  Guy #1.  (He will be introduced in the next chapter.  Bear with me).

            Needless to say, a week passes and it the day of the funeral.  My boyfriend still won’t talk to me, and he didn’t even come to the wake to be with me.  I never asked him for anything, and he can’t even be with me on one of the hardest days of my adult life.

            As I sit in the church waiting for things to settle, I am tying to take my mind off the fact that I am sitting in a church for my friend’s funeral and still my boyfriend is no where to be found.  I am thunderstruck.  He did show up eventually, but he ignored me and didn’t sit with me.  He walks out of the church following the procession and I follow a few rows further back.  Finally he comes to me and hugs me. 

            Isn’t it weird how there are things that you will always remember?  He smelled so good, and I was wearing black pants and a blue shirt with heals.  It was a windy and an eerily quiet day.  I think its weird that I will always remember that stuff.  It’s the shit I wish I could forget, but unfortunately, that will never happen.

            I jump in my friend’s car to go to the cemetery.  He doesn’t come.  He says he has to meet up with his friend at the bar for a little bit.  I don’t care at this point what he is doing because I am just done with the day.

            On the way back from the cemetery I text him to tell him where we are and to meet me at the firehouse where the party will be.  He says he will be there soon.  Whatever.  Click.  He didn’t show up for about an hour after I had gotten there.

            When he comes in he is weird, and quiet.  All my friends are there and were having a few drinks.  He tells me he is leaving for the weekend to go to his alma mater with a friend.  I already knew this.  He says he was leaving right now.  I said OK!

            “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

            Uh-oh.  That’s never good.

            “Sure.”

            We head outside, and he hands me a note, which says my full name across the top envelope.  Never once had he called me by my full name.  In 5 years there was no full name calling.

            “Aw, babe, is this a love letter?”

            I open it, and the first line is this, ‘as you may have noticed, I have been absent these last few days…”

            I stopped reading, tucked the letter back into the envelope and looked him dead in the eye.  “Are you breaking up with me?”

            He breaks eye contact and looks down at his feet.  Like a pussy, and nodded his head.  I throw the letter in his face and walked back inside to get my things.  I was leaving.  He followed of course, why wouldn’t he.  He wanted to talk about it now.  Sorry, no.  I’m so sorry, but you broke up with me at my friend’s funeral IN A FUCKING NOTE. So no, I'm not talking to him.

            Lets just say this; that day I died a little bit too.  But in the coming months I was born again.  I was like a new woman.  I lost weight, cut and colored my hair and became something I was familiar with.  I was reborn and I came back to my old self. 

            And this is where the Whory Story begins….